


All the World's a Stage

by agirlcalledbob



Series: SpiderHawk [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal, Burlesque, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Coach Bucky Barnes, Coach Clint Barton, College, Dancer Natasha Romanov, Group Sex, M/M, Made Up Bingo, Multi, Not our boys though, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Stripper Peter Parker, Threesome, Too many to list - Freeform, check notes, etc - All the bxb, explicit - Freeform, he'll get that eventually, no superpowers, unhealthy dynamic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlcalledbob/pseuds/agirlcalledbob
Summary: Bucky stood, looking down at the huge wet stain on his gray trackpants.“You’re a dick, Barton.”“You know it, Babe."Clint loves his eclectic sex life. No need for any changes here, right? No need to get hit by a freight train of adoration for an incredibly unsuitable boy and have his life turned upside down...right?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, minor Bucky/Natasha/Clint
Series: SpiderHawk [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786855
Kudos: 13





	1. Fire at Will

**Author's Note:**

> Bingo Tags:  
> #classfantasy #Clint/Bucky #situationalhumiliation #KateBishop
> 
> This started because I wanted to do one of these bingo things I keep seeing, but I have *literally* no idea how to get in on that - so I just googled Hawkeye bingo and Kink bingo and decided to use them. (I tried to google Spiderman bingo, but that shit got weird, fast, maybe because they all seemed to be Spiderpool)  
> Some of these bingo prompts are going to be _difficult_ to get in and it'll get weird, so sorry, I guess 🤣  
> Started out as PW/outP but a plot started to grow, so that's where we're going.
> 
> This time, Clint is comic version ie v tall and built, but Spidey is movie version adorably smoll (though around 20 - no underage here, TVM)

“Fuck, Coach, we shouldn’t be doing this.”  
“Come on, Buck, you know you want it. Show me how desperate you are to pass. Show anyone who walks in what a little slut you are for your Coach’s fat cock.”  
Bucky gulped, his cheeks pink as he glanced at the unlocked door of Clint’s office, shifting on his knees further behind the desk and ignoring the salacious chuckle from the taller man.

Clint took a modicum of pity on him, though, sitting in his battered leather chair and pushing his trackpants over his hips, revealing himself to be underwear-free, as usual.  
“Jeez, Barton, you’re such a slut,” Bucky broke character for a moment and Clint huffed, gently slapping his cheek.  
“Focus, boy. Make me feel good or you’re flunking out.”  
“Sorry Coach, I’ll do better, I promise.”

Clint let his head loll back while he enjoyed Bucky’s expert tongue working him over. It was Bucky’s fantasy, after all, Clint had just added the very real chance of getting caught, and Bucky had been too cum-drunk when they’d discussed it, the night before, to realize what a terrible idea it might prove to be.

“Get me nice and wet boy. Got no lube here, and you’re gonna be wriggling on my meat one way o another, you’d better slick me up properly.”  
“I can’t, Coach,” Bucky pulled back, panting and wide-eyed, “you’re way too big, you’ll split me open.”  
“Fuck, yes, I will,” Clint hissed, pulling Bucky’s head back onto him and fucking roughly into his throat, just the way he liked it.

The door swung open. Unexpectedly, but not entirely surprisingly – it _was_ two pm on a Thursday. Kate strode in, her glossy dark hair pulled into a high ponytail and a severe expression on her face. Clint stilled where he was, cruelly holding Bucky to feel his throat convulsing, before very slowly allowing him to pull back just enough to breathe.  
“Boss, did you tell the archery team they could just take the equipment onto the field?”  
“Sure I did. They know what they’re doing.”  
“Do they? I just found them with live arrows while the track team’s running laps.”

Clint pushed Bucky’s head again, forcing a choke out of him.  
“What the fuck, Boss? You got someone under your desk?”  
“Well, I wouldn’t check, if I were you.”  
“Christ, you’re a deviant.”

She span on her heel and slammed the door behind her, but Clint had caught the smirk as she left.  
He leant down to Bucky’s ear. “You’d better work harder, boy, before someone else catches you being such a slut.”  
Bucky moaned around him and Clint pushed his leg out, giving him something to rut against, which he did with desperation.  
“You gonna come in your pants, boy? Make a mess for me? Might just be enough to get you that passing grade.”

Bucky sucked harder, and Clint let out a moan that was far too loud, as he filled his mouth just as Bucky shuddered, letting go.  
“Good boy,” Clint whispered, pulling him up to kiss him harshly as he fastened himself away.

Bucky stood, looking down at the huge wet stain on his gray trackpants.  
“You’re a dick, Barton.”  
“You know it, Babe. Lucky you’ve got spare kit.”  
Bucky went over to his own desk, slumping onto his chair just as the door swung open again.

“Dean Fury,” Clint smirked at Bucky’s dropped jaw, “you’re early for our budget meeting.”  
“Only five minutes,” the severe man glanced around the room with his one good eye, wrinkling his nose as Bucky surreptitiously flicked the window behind him open without standing. “Anyway, it’s a formality. You know you keep us going with championship teams, you keep getting every bit of funding you want.”  
“Yeah, I know. The Arts Department hates us.”  
“Can’t blame them. But they know how it works. Anyway, my secretary’ll email the details. Sign ‘em and send ‘em back and you get your increased budget. Use it wisely.”  
“You got it, Boss.”

When Fury had paced out as suddenly as he’d arrived, Bucky turned to Clint with angry eyes.  
“What the fuck?”  
“Come on, Buck. I only wish I’d had told you, cause it would have got you off even harder. Can you imagine if you’d still been under the desk?”  
Bucky blushed, but didn’t say another word.


	2. Red Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Good day at work?” Natasha’s toned legs were propped up on the coffee table as she watched her boyfriend and best friend barrel through the door.  
>  “The best, Lisichka” Bucky grinned.   
> “What did he do to you, Luchik?”   
> “Not as much as I wanted to,” Clint rumbled with a grin.  
> “Yeah, I actually thought you were gonna fuck me over the desk for a hot minute,” Bucky admitted to Nat’s amusement.  
> “Tempting as that was, I don’t actually want your perversions to get us fired,” Clint joked, dodging the cushion Bucky threw at him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bingo tags:  
> #Clint/Natasha #strapons #Budapest #roommates
> 
> A sort of warning - I don't write hetero smut, but needed to hit the Clint/Natasha bingo tag, plus it totally fit for the situation - so the warning is so anyone who's read my other stuff isn't too surprised.
> 
> Peter will arrive next chapter 🥰

“Good day at work?” Natasha’s toned legs were propped up on the coffee table as she watched her boyfriend and best friend barrel through the door.  
“The best, Lisichka” Bucky grinned.   
“What did he do to you, Luchik?”   
“Not as much as I wanted to,” Clint rumbled with a grin.  
“Yeah, I actually thought you were gonna fuck me over the desk for a hot minute,” Bucky admitted to Nat’s amusement.  
“Tempting as that was, I don’t actually want your perversions to get us fired,” Clint joked, dodging the cushion Bucky threw at him.

Clint came back into the living room with a coffee, curling up next to Nat and planting a kiss on her shoulder. Bucky had gone to shower.  
“How was your day, anyway?”  
“Perfect so far. Some of the new recruits are good. Some will flunk within the first two weeks.” She shrugged expressively. It was pretty much what she said every time a new semester began. “You didn’t fuck him then?”  
“Nah, didn’t really fit the narrative. I was pushing his humiliation kink, but, like I said, there’s a limit to what we can get away with.”  
“Good. I have plans for my boy. You wish to join?”  
“Da,” Clint chuckled, giving her a mock salute.

Clint and Nat had been best friends for years, but, other than the ocassional dalliance, only really stepped up to friends with benefits when Bucky had started at the College, initially as Clint’s assistant and then as the Track and Field Coach, and joined them as a third roommate. They’d both identified his particular kinks quickly, though it was Nat who wanted more with him. She wasn’t the jealous type though, and appreciated the additional facet that Clint added. Clint just loved the fact that he had free and easy access to hardcore sex every time the pair of them were in the mood, which was often. He had no problem with not overstepping his position tangential to their relationship, and when they weren’t fucking they were just really good friends.

To no surprise of either of them, when they got to Nat and Bucky’s room, he was naked on the bed, freshly showered and working himself open with thick fingers, his prosthetic arm slung up as a rest for his head..   
“He’s ready for us,” Nat grinned, heading the the drawer where Clint knew she kept all her favorite toys.  
“What’s the plan, Moya koroleva?”   
Clint knew exactly where he stood here.  
“I want to fuck my boy,” she responded, brandishing a frankly demonic-looking bright red strap-on. “Your choice is to either ride him or use his mouth. You may eat me out when I have finished with him.”  
Clint considered himself probably four fifths gay, but even for him that was a blazing hot offer, so he grinned as he stripped, and was still grinning as he swiped Bucky’s lube and began stretching himself in preparation for riding Bucky’s thick cock, which was flushed red and leaking. 

He watched as Nat entered Bucky, the tender words she murmured at him, largely in Russian, belying the speed and pressure she moved with, going rough as Bucky liked, not allowing him much time to get used to the size. Clint rolled a condom onto Bucky and straddled him, leaning forward and thanking Nat when she helped guide their joining, grinding his hips when he was fully seated so as to not jolt Buck’s body and disturb Nat taking her pleasure. He had his own Dommy moments, but he had nothing on Nat, and didn’t fancy getting his ass tanned with a belt if he messed up.

He liked the position anyway, getting to watch the overwhelming arousal taking over Bucky’s features, his gray eyes fluttering as his pale cheeks flushed, and he especially liked teasing him further, twisting a nipple harshly or biting a light mark onto his collarbone, right where it would sting the most. He had to hold back – even though he wasn’t beholden to Nat’s command to orgasm, he still wanted Bucky to let go first – but when she began to run a lubed finger around his muscle, tightly clenched over her boyfriend’s cock, it was close, until she finally hissed at Bucky to come, and he felt the swell inside him and gave the final jerk that allowed him to release over Bucky’s chest.

He bent to clean Bucky up with his tongue, and Nat joined him a moment later, until the lightly furred skin was slick with only their saliva. She lay next to Bucky then, gently kissing him and telling him how well he did, while Clint got to work between her legs, lapping up the sweetened tang that flowed from her. She always got extra hot when she’d taken Bucky that way, as needy as she’d ever be, though on her it looked a lot more like rich expectation, but after all this time knowing exactly which moves extended her pleasure, it wasn’t long before he tasted the thickness of her release, hearing her gasp into Bucky’s mouth.

He moved up the bed then, to spoon behind Bucky’s exhausted frame, sleepy himself.   
“Are you coming to Tony and Steve’s bachelor party?” he asked softly, while gently stroking Bucky’s side.  
“Da. Although Sam felt the need to warn me.”  
“Of what?”  
“Apparently, Tony is insisting on going very traditional.”  
“Traditional? A bachelor party?...Oh shit. Strippers, right?”  
“Exactly. A strip _club_ , Sam said. It is funny. He can be a little old fashioned, As if I’d be bothered by exotic dancing.”  
Clint chuckled. “He probably thinks you wouldn’t consider it art. Does Steve know, anyway?”  
“I would suspect not.”  
“Christ, I can’t wait to see the look on his face. He’s going to murder Tony.”  
“You are a bad man, Clinton Francis Barton. And you, too, must be on your best behavior. I _will not_ have a repeat of Budapest, you understand?”  
“Yes, ma’am,” Clint agreed, wide-eyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:  
> Lisichka [little fox]  
> Luchik [Sunray]  
> Moya koroleva [my queen]
> 
> Not only Peter next chapter, but from his perspective too 🥳


	3. Dance Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You need some help, baby?” Darcy leaned against his back, waving a mascara wand at his reflection.  
>  “Thanks, Darc,” he shifted in his seat, lifting his face so she could apply the make up.  
> “Not like you need it with these spider lashes. I’d kill for them.”  
> “Yours are pretty good too.”  
> “All false, baby.” She fluttered them comically at him before resuming careful application of mascara and khol.  
> It didn’t matter. Darcy had that coveted look of insanely sweet and sexy retro pin up down just right. She was probably the Polosa Club’s top dancer, other than him, though he was only a hit on the gay nights. He was proud of his body, which was tightly muscular, but his look was definitely more twink than Magic Mike. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bingo tags:  
> #Dancing #voyeurism #PietroMaximoff #silkpanties
> 
> A decent sized chapter to introduce our friendly neighborhood stripper. No warnings, I don't think, and this was fun to write, but maybe his head isn't always in the best place for such an emotionally demanding job.

Peter leaned into the mirror. The light in here was beyond terrible, but Wanda kept promising they’d sort it. Eventually. He sighed. It wasn’t even as though he could complain, when the reason the club wasn’t making money hand over fist was because of how insanely reasonable Wanda was toward her staff. She paid them decently, and let them keep every red cent of their tips, she paid for top healthcare, and even paid them a stipend for costumes and vacation pay. If it wasn’t for the fact that her brother was the fastest barman in history, which meant they’d never needed to hire another one, and their single bouncer was nicknamed Colossus for a reason, so, again, they needed only one, he was pretty sure she’d be in the red. 

He'd fix the lights himself – theoretically he was smart enough to work it out – but he was just _really_ bad with electricity and he didn’t think she’d thank him if he burned the joint down. 

“You need some help, baby?” Darcy leaned against his back, waving a mascara wand at his reflection.  
“Thanks, Darc,” he shifted in his seat, lifting his face so she could apply the make up.  
“Not like you need it with these spider lashes. I’d kill for them.”  
“Yours are pretty good too.”  
“All false, baby.” She fluttered them comically at him before resuming careful application of mascara and khol.  
It didn’t matter. Darcy had that coveted look of insanely sweet and sexy retro pin up down just right. She was probably the Polosa Club’s top dancer, other than him, though he was only a hit on the gay nights. He was proud of his body, which was tightly muscular, but his look was definitely more twink than Magic Mike. 

Saturdays were a weird in-between night. It wasn’t gay night, but they always got a decent mix in, with money to burn, so Wanda often asked him, Bobby, and Loki to work. But he wasn’t sure there’d be much for the three of them tonight, because she’d said they had a Bachelor party _and_ a Bachelorette party in, which normally meant they were the clingy groups, that wanted to be involved on each other’s nights. And that usually ended in a fight. And if they were big groups that left less room for the guys who’d be interested in what he was offering. Still, he only needed to get two private dances and it would have been worth his while. 

She’d just finished his eyes, and was applying an extra layer to her own, when Pietro came barreling in – fast, as ever, but somehow always managing to avoid the piles of boxes and other random crap strewn around the tiny and very messy changing room.  
“Peter, get your butt out there, the Bachelor party are ready to rock and roll.” His Eastern-European accent was still strong, but he’d adopted a very New York turn of phrase easily.  
“Don’t you mean Darcy?”  
“Oh! Hi Darcy. Wanda wants you on the side stage. You good with ‘Umbrella’ too? Thor’s already in the side room with the Bachelorettes and we’ve herded your customers to the side. Jane’s up there warming them up for you.”

As usual, the easiest way to work out what Pietro was talking about was to go out and see it for himself. He gave a last check that all his velcro was in place as Pietro flew off to cover the bar and they went out into the noise and lights of the club. It could all be a bit much for him – he used to be hyper-sensitive to too much of either – but after several months at the club, he could zone out of it, and focus only on his own music and movement.

He didn’t have much time to do any looking though, as he heard the final strains of ‘Shake It Off’ finish and Loki strode off the center stage, wearing nothing but a shiny green g-string stuffed with bills and thigh high leather boots. He gave Peter a high five as he passed, whispering, “Easy crowd, babe,” as he accepted a bottle of water from Wanda at the podium. 

She lifted the microphone and announced Peter and Darcy. He gave a quick thumbs up to Darcy, who already had a hand on the silver pole on the side stage and winked at him as the opening strains of ‘Umbrella’ by Rhianna began. It was Peter’s go-to for starting a set. Everyone had heard it, and it had enough oomph to let him pull out some of his most dramatic moves.

Peter didn’t even look at the crowd yet, though he had a vague notion that it was surprisingly busy out there. He didn’t normally have center stage on a Saturday, but he was used to it from Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he swung out, strutting down the length, swinging his furled umbrella from side-to-side and holding it behind his neck as he swung his hips. There were the usual catcalls and bills being waved, trying to encourage him over, but, for now, his head was in the music. The rhythm sped up, and he used the pole; a two armed swing, then a leg wrapped and supported by one hand, followed by something that started high and ended up on the floor, mainly so he could show off with helicopter legs to athletically leap back up. He knew the ridiculously kinky PVC outfit showed him off in a good light, and enabled him to do almost the entire routine without actually stripping anything off, though he gave them a treat toward the end, delicately pulling the halter neck tie before ripping the velcro fastening free, followed by the little shorts, leaving nothing but silky French-cut panties that framed his adorable bubble-butt perfectly. 

He could pay a bit more attention now, crawling across the stage. He always found this bit vaguely ridiculous, this strange attempt to make every man feel like he was doing it just for them, when the illusion was instantly ruined by him slinking to the next guy, offering a cheeky wink and hoping to feel the filthy crinkle of a note being pushed into his waistband. There were a few regulars there, and he gave Quentin an extra arch and twist, knowing his hundred dollar bill was slightly less grubby than all the ones and fives from almost everyone else.

Round to the other side, oh, this was clearly the bachelor party – okay, so a different dynamic to what he’d assumed; a large group of slightly drunk men, a broad, good-looking blond being egged on by literally every other one as he went very, very pink and apologetically held up a lovely, crisp Benjamin. The song was coming to an end, and it looked like it could be worthwhile to put a little extra effort in here, so he swung around, sitting on the edge of the stage and leaning forward with angelic wide eyes, giving a sweet, encouraging smile as the man’s friends roared and clapped. The dark haired hottie next to him wrapped his arms around his neck and planted a very hot kiss, whispering something that made the blond flush even deeper pink, but he lunged forward and tucked the note into Peter’s waistband, flinching back as if it had electrocuted him.

Peter didn’t roll his eyes, but he was tempted, though the matching note that tall, dark and handsome dropped on him made it a little easier to stomach. Another hot brunet with a hipster man-bun tucked a decent sized note in, and Peter made a vow he’d be back out to entertain these guys as soon as he’d safely secured his stash, when a red-headed woman appeared before him, and it was his turn to flush as she tucked yet another hundred dollar bill in.  
“You are very good _malen’kiy pauk_ , I knew you would be.”

Definitely as good a time as any to disappear, as the song had finished and he didn’t want to anger Wanda. But just before he could rise, someone else appeared, and his breath was somehow stolen. He didn’t know why. The man was handsome, sure, but this whole group was, and he wasn’t pretty like the brunet. He was broad and muscular, but not the only one – embarrassed guy was even bigger. Maybe it was the beautiful blue eyes. Or maybe it was the cheeky, lopsided grin. Whatever it was, Peter found himself stuttering out a thanks for the fifty that he carefully slid in, but he was up and then down the stage with nothing like the sexy swagger he normally finished his set with, blushing almost as hotly as the big guy, making space for Bobby to move out onto the stage.

“You okay, Pete?” Darcy asked, when she found him in the tiny staff bathroom, scrubbing his face with ice cold water.  
“Ye-ah. I’m fine. Made a killing.”  
He tried to pull it together. He really had. He’d just locked almost six hundred dollars into his locker – which was as much as he normally made over both of his standard mid-week days, including private dances. Well, the ones Wanda sanctioned in the club, anyway.

He put it down to seeing someone he knew. That was it. He had to get back out there anyway. Wanda needed him to get out, do his flirting, get people to buy insanely overpriced drinks. Plus it wasn’t fair to leave the others picking up the slack. Darcy reapplied his ruined make up, and he pulled on a sleeveless mesh shirt. He was still wearing the panties, which actually weren’t any more revealing than a pair of Speedos, and he pulled a heavy pair of combat boots on. 

He breathed one sigh of relief when he saw Loki was leading Ms Romanov and the pretty hipster to one of the private dance rooms, but there was no such relief for the weirdly hot blond, who was still there, and looking right at Peter.

Peter couldn’t face that: the tight feeling in his lower stomach, that could almost be suggested to be pleasure, if he’d let it. He’d talked to Darcy about it one night, how he was rarely even attracted to men, despite being categorically gay. She’d proposed asexuality, but he was certain that wasn’t it – his collection of dildos suggested otherwise. Then she’d considered demisexuality, but that didn’t seem right, either. Of course her guesses would have been a lot closer to the mark if he’d just admitted how badly his ex – and, in fact, only – boyfriend had hurt him, deciding after two years together, and out of the blue, that a relationship with their mutual – female – childhood best friend was better for the contacts he wished to make in order to follow his father into business. But of course Peter had resolutely not mentioned anything of the kind. 

But this guy, older, and handsome, and cocky, was making him feel strange things. Things he didn’t _want_ to feel. So he started his routine, of flirting, and bringing drinks, and arranging dances on the other side of the stage. Gave a lapdance right there while Bobby gyrated on the stage with that insanely white smile and the man whose lap he was on didn’t even tear his eyes away, but who’s to care, when Peter took the fee, and a decent tip? Loki came back out, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief that, not only had Ms Romanov left, but Loki was picking up that side of the room, leaning against what Peter had worked out were the two bachelors, twisting his long, lean body and flirting coquetishly. And when Loki went off again to a private room, this time with the cocky blond in tow, Peter was by no means jealous. Obviously.

Wanda announced a break for the stage, so all the dancers were on the floor. He broke into an impromptu waltz with Darcy as they passed each other.  
“Feeling better?” she whispered as he held her close, ignoring the fact that her towering heels made his head almost level with her impressive, and not exactly well-covered, breasts.  
“I’m fine, really. Two more dances on stage and I’m done.”  
“Ready for the big finish?”  
“Sure am.” He winked and spun away, heading back to the bachelor party.

“Hey kid, come here.”  
Peter didn’t much like being ordered around, but the dark-haired bachelor looked the type who was _very_ used to getting his own way. Probably didn’t think anything of it. That could annoy Peter on a lot of levels outside the club, but here, well, he knew where his value lay, so he made sure his hips did a sultry sway as he obeyed.  
“Do you do private dances?”  
“Sure, forty bucks, plus tip. You interested?” Peter decided he could be just as blunt back, but the guy didn’t seem fazed.  
“My fiance here has never had a lapdance. Stevie’s a little innocent,” he whispered. “You charge extra for an audience?”  
“No, Sir,” Peter responded, though he caught Colossus’ eye and lifted two fingers. The huge bouncer had all the cameras for the rooms on the tablet that never left his side, and he would keep an eye on things extra carefully. 

Peter knew Loki was still in one of the rooms. Hot blond must have paid for a double and, once again, Peter was in no way jealous. At all. The rooms were dimly lit and in a row with windows between each one so, standing, you could see all the way from the first one to the last. When he ushered the two in, Stevie sat on the client chair and the other one, who introduced himself as Tony, sat on the bench under one of the high windows. Peter glanced over and flushed, because he could see next door was the room Loki was in, and he was naked now, dancing free, twisting and gyrating with his arms long over his head. He couldn’t see the client, but he could well imagine the look of bliss on his face.

Peter’s heart really wasn’t in this, but he could be professional. On any other night he’d be abso-fucking-lutely delighted at two such hot clients – they were certainly a step up from what he was used to.  
“Okay, Stevie, if you havent done this before you need to know the rules. No touching, whatsoever. I can touch you, and, unless you tell me you don’t want me to, I will be doing that. Similarly, unless you say you don’t want it, I will be stripping naked. If, at any point, you want me to stop what I’m doing, just say.”

Wanda always told him he shouldn’t speak so much, and he’d certainly had complaints from men about not just ‘getting on with it’, but consent was really freaking important to him, in every area, including a strip club. 

This guy, though, just nodded, looking a little stunned, and mumbled, “Steve.” His fiance had a shit-eating grin, but Peter just rolled his eyes and flicked the music on. Dancing in a private room wasn’t the same as being on the stage. He couldn’t just zone into the music, because he needed to be constantly aware of where his hands were going, and those of the client. And this time, the client’s future husband, though he wasn’t judging. A lot of the men who came into the club did it to get riled up and go home to someone, or came in with their partner. Most of the rest of the clients were kind of lonely, usually. Sometimes, the private dance turned into something more like a therapy session, and he usually had at least a couple a week where he never even got round to stripping, and those were usually the biggest tippers. 

He could tell Steve was embarrassed, and had been pretty much bullied into it, so Peter went easy on him, not pulling any of his signature lewd moves, like the ass-wriggle handstand, or the ‘imma make you come’ butt grind. You learned quick what was appropriate for each client, and when Tony announced he’d like a dance straight after, and swapped seats with Steve, Peter did pull those moves for him (though not to the point of making him come, just enough to make him very red-faced and panting), after he’d checked with Steve that he was okay with it (as it was obvious Tony had no problems with any of it).

By the time he’d got back out, several hundred dollars in tips richer – Tony was clearly _beyond_ loaded – Bobby had needed to take his stage dance.  
“Sorry,” he sheepishly apologised.  
“Don’t worry, Darlin’. I did well out of it, though I’m suffering now. My thighs are bruised.”  
“Sit out the finale, Pietro will get you some ice,” Peter suggested. There weren’t usually a lot of tips in it anyway, it was more a way for the dancers to cut loose and play their personas up, and Bobby nodded gratefully and headed over to the bar, while Peter went to the back to get changed.

It was his favorite part of the night. They switched the songs around so regulars didn’t get bored, but this one was one of the best. When the opening strains of ‘Hey sister, soul sister,’ began, Darcy strutted out, chanelling the original in silver leggings and high boots, a matching silver bandau holding everything in place, miming into a mic as her hips flicked side to side. Peter was next, in his silver shorts and bra-top. They always said he was the slutty Labelle, but he owned that. They sometimes did it mirroring the version that Pink and Christina Aguilera did years ago, but copying the first one was Peter’s favorite, and not only because he looked amazing (he rocked the corset combo too). Loki was Patti Labelle tonight, in a flowing gray and silver cape that he looked like a fucking _queen_ in. They mixed up the ‘lead singer’ when they did the finale, basing it on the audience, and tonight the twinky boys had won. 

Peter couldn’t help it, up here, with the distance provided from mainly using the broad main stage and staying away from the pole, he looked out to see if he could catch the eye of the hot blond. He was there, leaning against the bar, grinning, and definitely watching Peter, as he sipped a beer. 

When the song finished, and everyone cheered, and dropped tips into the jar conspicuously placed on the end of the stage, Peter jumped down, intending to bite the bullet and approach. The least he could do tonight was get the name of the man who had captured his attention so unexpectedly forcefully. The man smiled, watching his progress, one elbow resting on the bar, but Peter’s move came stuttering to a stop when his arm was taken.

“Sweet Peter. You were wonderful this evening, as ever.”  
“Quentin. Uh, hello. Are you well?”  
“All the better for finally having you to myself.”  
Peter clenched his jaw. It was their agreement but, Christ, it did not suit tonight, and felt like a yoke.  
“Of course. Let me gather my things.”

When he looked up, the man was looking into his beer, his expressive lips pulled into something that could only be described as a pout, and Peter had to stop himself from giggling. He had things to do instead, and went back to the dressing room with a heavy heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, so how does he know Natasha? And how awkward might that be when he sees her next?


	4. Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After their initial, slightly awkward meeting, Peter had been a little enamored by the older man, who was certainly good looking, and seemed smart. His little affectations were kind of sweet, at first. So when he’d said, rather than just inviting Peter to events, and playing it as if everything was legitimate, why should he not simply be Peter’s Sugar Daddy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #gangbang
> 
> Sex work is real work, no doubt here. But Peter doesn't exactly approach his chosen employment in a healthy way. I'm not going to sugar coat and claim dub con (I have a very uncertain and unclear relationship with dub con - still not sure it's even a thing) - what happens here is non-con even if Peter walks out the other side seemingly unscathed, so consider this your TW.
> 
> Plus, originally this was meant to be a short bit with Quentin, for the # and then something lighter, but I decided the first bit was dark enough that I didn't want to keep them together.

Quentin didn’t touch him on the drive. He drove some ridiculous shiny black penis extention, and liked to focus really hard on the road. That was the thing about Quentin. He was insanely _precise_ , almost to the point of pathalogical. Peter had found it endearing when they’d first met, and the man had carefully wiped his own hand with a hankerchief before shaking Peter’s, but it became less quirky and more creepy the longer he knew him. 

He paid well, though, and Peter could put up with a lot for that. Not that he was mercenary, except in a purely pragmatic sense. He needed that money to survive. There was no way his Aunt May could ever afford to pay him through school, and he wouldn’t dream of asking it from her. Dancing paid well, but when he’d realized there were ways to do even better, for not that much more effort, he’d had to take them. 

And he found it easy to justify, though he didn’t like how often he felt the need to do it, to mentally count down to make sure the positives were still outweighing the negatives. Before Quentin, he’d been an ‘escort’ to several regulars from the club, paid to be with them at various events. Of course, there’d been a certain expectation of how the evenings would finish, and it was true that after each occasion he’d scrubbed himself for so long in the shower that he’d ended up rinsing off in freezing water. But, really, it hadn’t been that bad. It had never been anything Peter wouldn’t have done for fun, in other circumstances, and he’d only ever agreed to it with clients that he found at least somewhat attractive.

And that’s what Quentin had been. To be honest, after their initial, slightly awkward meeting, Peter had been a little enamored by the older man, who was certainly good looking, and seemed smart. His little affectations were kind of sweet, at first. So when he’d said, rather than just inviting Peter to events, and playing it as if everything was legitimate, why should he not simply be Peter’s Sugar Daddy (without the ‘Daddy’ – neither of them were into it)?

Peter hadn’t really been able to come up with a good reason why not, except he had reminded Quentin that it didn’t mean they were exclusive. After all, Peter had bills to pay. They’d be easier to cover with Quentin’s patronage, but he wasn’t going to turn down good money elsewhere. At the beginning, Peter had thought he’d been just fine with it. He’d said he was. But lately, Peter had noticed Quentin would get cold, and even maybe a little angry, a little rougher, when Peter had been out with someone else.

So he should have expected something tonight. Last week, Peter had needed to turn down an invitation from Quentin because he had a long standing appointment with one of his other clients, a handsome and charming older man who would take Peter to dinner once a month mainly just to talk. Peter knew he was lonely – his wife had died a long time ago and his daughter, although loving, was focused on her work and her boyfriend, which was what the old guy wanted, except it left him needing attention elsewhere. And he had the money to pay for it. So, once a month, Peter would eat incredibly well at some of the best restaurants in the city, and then, afterwards, would dance for the old man in the privacy of his study. Even though the man insisted he didn’t have to, Peter would always blow him at the end. As a kind of thank you for being such a nice man, and for not expecting it. Though Peter was painfully conscious that his standards were somewhat twisted these days (his roommate always reminded him he didn’t have to live by what other people considered acceptable standards, but Peter wasn’t sure Wade was the best person to accept life advice from).

When they got to Quentin’s brownstone, Peter tried to be surprised at the four men who were waiting there, but he couldn’t even bring himself to be. He knew it was Quentin’s way of punishing him for letting him down the week before, and maybe it would have an element of payback for giving someone a lapdance right next to him tonight. The occasions they were together lately had a lot more of this kind of stuff, pushing Peter’s boundaries, but Peter just kept going. He had one more year of school. He could cope. 

“Let’s play a game!” Quentin boomed, and Peter rolled his eyes where he couldn’t be seen. It was always a game to Quentin.  
“Quentin, I’m not sure I’m-,”  
“Come on Peter, you want to do a good job, don’t you?”  
“Sure I do, but I’m beat. Work really took it out of me.”  
“Of course, and what’s this if not more work? I know you won’t let me down. It’s what I pay for, afterall. Prove your worth.”

Peter grimaced, but he cast his eyes over his ‘penance’. There was one who was quite young, sort of pretty-handsome, but nervy. Peter would take the bet that he’d ever done anything like this before – hell, Quentin probably hadn’t told him what the evening was about, it wouldn’t be the first time. The older man with salt and pepper hair at his temples had a huge stogie clutched between his teeth and the smirkiest smirk that had ever smirked. Peter had a feeling he wouldn’t make things easy. The other two barely looked interested, the huskier guy sipping a whiskey as he talked to the fatherly-looking blue eyed man next to him. They were obviously used to Quentin’s ways and just let him take the stage.

“If sweet Peter wins, he’ll get an extra big tip tonight, so I’m sure he’ll try his hardest.”  
It was _one_ of the more annoying facets of Quentin, that he reveled in telling people that Peter was bought and paid for, but Peter just forced a smile and relaxed his shoulders.  
“Peter will get to work that pretty mouth of his, for as long as it takes to make each of my guests happy, and then everyone will get to take their turn with him, and if he can correctly identify each one, then he wins big!”

Peter didn’t see what was so hard about that, until his saw the blindfold hanging off Quentin’s finger. He took the introductions, paying only enough attention that he’d win this stupid game, playing it sweet and innocent the whole time, as that was clearly what Quentin wanted. He got on his knees and set to work. It would still be easy, even through the condoms – he hated the things but it was a hard and fast rule regardless of making silly party games more difficult for him. Each man had at least one defining feature – uncut, curving, mushroom head, a particular and unusual thickness. He’d have no problem with the test.

Peter was thankful Quentin instructed him to dance for them when he’d done the first stage. Except for ‘Nervy’ they were all older, and he could do without them taking longer than necessary to get off a second time. So he took the liberty of going all out, grinding up against them, rubbing them through their pants, now they were tucked back away. But before long, Quentin wasn’t able to wait any longer, and had wrapped the blindfold over his eyes, pushing him down over the ottoman so he was presented for them. Quentin seemed delighted by the whole thing, but if anything the others seemed largely bored. They barely spoke, except for ‘Whiskey’ and ‘Blue-Eyes’, who spoke to each other the whole time. 

Luckily for him, they had the sense to go in size order, and Peter had no problem identifying the first two after they’d spilled in the condoms inside him. He didn’t like that bit, feeling the swell, feeling their hips stutter against him, their grasps always getting that bit more demanding. Number three threw him for only a moment.  
“Quentin, are you trying to cheat? That’s mean.”  
The others all laughed that he’d been caught out so easily, and Peter could just imagine the scowl on his face. The last two were easy too, and before too long, Peter was standing in the foyer, appropriately better off, and finally smiling.

“No need to get your car out, Quentin, I’ll give him a lift,” Nervy offered.  
Quentin took the offer without even bothering with a goodbye to Peter, and they stepped outside.  
“My bike’s over there,” Nervy pointed. “That okay?”  
“Not a problem. I have good balance.”  
“Can I ask you something?” he asked as they crossed the dark road.  
“Sure.”  
“Why do you let him treat you like that?”  
“Like what?” Peter didn’t know why he was playing innocent. They both knew.  
“He thinks you’re a trophy. He treats you like an object. And that’s fine. People get off on that, but you didn’t seem into it. You’re pretty enough. Even if you want to have someone, I don’t know, look after you, surely you can find someone better than that.”  
“You act like it’s easy,” Peter shrugged. “Sure, some parts arent great, but, hey, it’s a regular gig.” He shrugged, laughing, but Nervy just looked at him like he felt sorry for him, and Peter hung his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few unnamed MCU characters there for funsies. Can you get them all?


End file.
